Night again,
after midnight again,
and I am still awake again,
still awake and searching for rest.
The rest for which I have suffered so much.
Sometimes I think
I have got accustomed to emigration, to impermanence.
But what does all the melancholy then mean?
Perhaps my childish thoughts
when I left my homeland
were not aware of the meaning of emigration.
Of its sadnesses.
But now I know well
what it means
to be far from things
to which you have been accustomed for years.
Always looking
for a heart-warming justification
for enduring difficulties.
Always looking for the dream
that I followed.
The dream
for whose fulfilment many have taken a very difficult path.
But only when they arrive here
do they realise what misfortune they have found.
And that all the things
that they expected
were no more than a dream.
They journey to a new country,
dreaming of happiness.
But here there is nothing called happiness.
Here there is impermanence.
Problems multiply
and there is no way back.
Here.
In the place
for which you let go of everything that belonged to you.
In the place
worse than the one that you came from.
In the place
where everyone looks at you with the eye of contempt.
